


Before I Forget

by Whiskeyjack



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BuckyNat Secret Santa, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Memory Alteration, Mission Fic, Red Room (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whiskeyjack/pseuds/Whiskeyjack
Summary: Soulmates find each other by touch. The Winter Soldier has found his, but he doesn't remember her.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eternal_Love_Song](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eternal_Love_Song/gifts).



> Thanks as usual [@ashesintheair](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashesintheair) for beta reading and editing! 
> 
> Title is a song by Slipknot, and is listed in my [Bucky Barnes playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/jediluc/playlist/2rekTLok52ohd46Whn5pM2).
> 
> This is my first time gifting a fic for an exchange, I hope you like it!!

He has never believed that soulmates truly exist. He would overhear other people describe them; how they’d shared the flash-forwards with their soulmates when they touched, when something inside of them just _knew_ when they met the other, something instinctual and primal that transcended any kind of thought or logic that told them: _this is it, this is the person who I will share my life with_.

He does not believe that soulmates exist because he is a weapon, a tool to be used, and tools do not have a soul. The body of the person he used to be—James Buchanan Barnes—used to say he didn't believe in them either. But deep down inside, he would hope and dream about the day he would meet them.

There was no knowing what sort of person you would be paired to. Some believed that the shared visions told a version of the future that the two people would share; others said it showed them scenes from their alternate lives, lives that these two kindred spirits had, are having, would have, because once two souls bonded, they were bonded forever, and would always find a way back to each other.

Some part of him, buried deep in his brain, tells him that he has met his soulmate before. It is an itch in the back of his skull that he cannot scratch, a stray piece of thread in a tapestry that cannot be pulled upon lest it unravel. His mind has been wiped so many times that he knows this and accepts it, because he is a tool, and tools need to be maintained in order to remain in working order. Trivial things like memories should not be afforded them, for they serve the tool no purpose.

He is in Istanbul in December, at the height of the winter season, and it is cold and snowing, but he prefers it that way. The Winter Soldier is at home in this climate. Bundled up in a simple jacket, he doesn't shiver at the cold, but the breeze at his neck stings when he steps off the plane and onto the tarmac. His handlers don't let him wear his hair long, too worried that long hair on a man will be conspicuous, but he doesn't care.

His mark for this mission is a woman. Usually he doesn't have strong feelings either way about it, but there's something… different about it this time. Every time he looks at the photo in her file, his gut clenches and he feels dizzy. She has red hair, bright as a flame, with a face that he thinks he's seen before, but can't quite place. He can't explain it, but doesn't say anything to his handlers. Weapons don't have weaknesses. So he shoves it aside and concentrates on her abilities.

She is a former KGB agent, defected and now working with the Avengers. Her skill list is almost as long as his, and with a kill count to match too. He is impressed, despite himself. She'd even been given a little of the super soldier serum, according to the file, and was labelled “highly lethal”. That must be why he was sent to kill her. He's the best weapon that Russia has, and you always use your best weapons to take out the hardest threats.

He sets up his Dragunov on the rooftop of the building opposite her hotel room. There's a clear line of sight to the window, it should be an easy shot. Now it's just a matter of waiting. It is past 6 in the evening and he knows that she will be back soon after her day out. He'd been observing her over the last few days since arriving, and was greatly disturbed to find that she was so hard to track. But she always returned to her hotel room in the evenings for whatever reason, and he counts that as a stroke of luck in his favour. Because what kind of agent _sticks to routine_? It made you too predictable, too easy to read.

There is a flash of red past his scope and he knows it's her. The drapes are thrown wide open and he can see well into the room, where she sits at the hotel supplied desk, typing on her laptop with her back to the window. _Sloppy_ , he thinks, _she's going to get herself killed_ , and the irony of that thought digs its claws into his flesh.

He lines up the crosshairs, dead centre of the back of her head, and his finger trembles over the trigger. His inability to take the shot sends a shiver down his spine and suddenly he feels the keenness of the cold around his ears, on his face, through his jacket where he lies on his belly. He mentally shakes his head, the feeling passes, and he is at home in the cold as he ever was. He sucks in a breath and squeezes the trigger.

The bullet flies silently through the air, and he can hear the tiny crack as it passes through the glass of the window, but it hits the mirror above the desk. Through the scope, he watches her jerk her head around to look at the source of the shot, and he curses under his breath as her eyes find the glint of his scope, their gazes locking for just a second over the distance. Then she bolts, and he knows he’s fucked.

She’ll go down to street level and try to lose him there. The city has a thousand little alleyways and corners to hide in, and if he doesn’t get a bead on her soon, he’ll have to start the hunt over again. He sprints down the stairwell, and reaches the back of the hotel just as he spots her running out, red hair stark against the whitewashed walls of the buildings around them.

She turns momentarily to throw something at him, then disappears around the side of a wall. He's not sure what it is but it's small, and he catches it easily in the metal of his left arm. The disc discharges an electrical current that shorts out the arm and it hangs limply at his side. It'll restart itself shortly, but in the meantime it's an annoyance. He chases her around the corner and is met with a high kick to head, sending him sprawling onto his back in the gritty snow.

He shoves a leg out in front of him before she can get on top, but instead she grabs the foot and twists, causing him to yell out in pain and roll over to accommodate. He pulls it back, swinging his other leg up and into her jaw, hears the crack as his boot finds its mark. She staggers backward and he crawls up quickly, pulling out a knife from his belt as he lunges toward her. She puts her arms up and the knife skids on the metal of her arm guards, the sound shrill and piercing in the darkness.

Her knee comes up to slam him full on the gut, sending him doubling over and spitting. Coughing, he flexes his metal arm, curling the fingers to make sure they work again, and swings at her with a southpaw punch. She’s faster than him though, and ducks under it as the fist crunches into the brick wall behind her. She swings a leg under him and her foot catches him in the back of the knee making him stumble, but his fist still lodged in the wall makes sure he doesn't lose his footing. He swings out with his other hand and misses again, and this time she grabs his arm and pulls him down, pinning him to the ground with a knee on his chest.

He snarls, his metal arm coming up to grab a fistful of her hair to try and pull her off. She grits her teeth but doesn't scream, shifting her position on top of him to try and move her leg to get some leverage, her foot hooking into crook of his arm to try and break it out of his hold. Before she can pull his arm out, he snaps his head forward, headbutting her with an audible crack.

All of a sudden, images flood behind his eyes.

_1954, they spar in a boxing ring surrounded by generals in sharply pressed suits. They were barely winded as they traded blows, each of them easily blocking and parrying the other while their audience murmured in approval. That was the first time they had made skin to skin contact, and the knowing glances they had shot each other was all he needed. They were well trained enough to know to hide it, lest they be punished for it later. But as she blocked each of his punches, he couldn't help the feeling of warmth that blossomed in his chest._

She grunts and sways atop him, hand clutching at her forehead. It looks like he struck her hard enough to draw blood, and a small drop of it falls onto his lip as she rolls off. It is salty and sweet all at once as his tongue instinctively darts out to lick it.

_It is 1963. Moscow in winter is bone chilling, but they find respite in each other's arms. Whatever solace they could get is short lived, however, when the KGB slammed down the door and dragged her away screaming. The red of her hair was the only thing he remembered before they wiped him again._

His head is spinning now, aching and hot despite the snow pillowed under his head. He shuts his eyes but the visions keep flashing under his eyelids.

_It is 2007. Steve Rogers is dead, the casualty of a war that had been unnecessarily drawn out. He is angry, the emotion spurring him to action. On the streets, he saw her running past, Captain America's shield strapped to her back. She said, “You?!” in recognition, and he apologized for taking the shield._

He tries to will them away, his programming screaming in protest - **Kill her! Finish the mission!** It claws at the walls of his brain, but he can't move his body. In his periphery he can see her struggling to get up, a hand braced on the wall.

_By night, she went with him on patrols of the city, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with Sam, or Sharon. He's still trying to get used to the uniform, to the heft of the shield in his mechanical arm, and though it flies easily from his hand, the join where metal meets flesh ached with the responsibility. By day, she slept away the pain with him, and he could remember just for a moment that he's just a regular guy in love with his girl._

She brings out a gun from somewhere—his vision still too blurred to have caught it—but he manages to kick it out of her hands easily. It clatters away out of reach. She seems as disoriented as he is.

_He screamed in pain as the Asgardian ripped his left arm off, sending sparks flying in the air. This was the hard part, pretending to die. He didn't care about the arm, he knew Stark would build a new one for him. He didn't care about his reputation, in fact his death would probably be a good thing for the Avengers. What he did care about was worrying her. When he came to, she was there beside his bed, not crying or weeping, just there. He grinned wryly at her, made a crack about being hard to kill, and she hugged him tight._

She makes a weak attempt to lunge for it, but he tackles her and they go tumbling to the ground again.

_He ran toward her, calling her name, hoping beyond hope that she would come back to him again. “Who the hell is Bucky?” The words cut deep. They managed to restore all her memories - her defection, her time as an Avenger, everything except the ones he shared with her. He didn't know how he was going to live without her, but he would bear the pain for both of them. He coloured the star on his arm in black and red, in her memory._

He scrambles for the gun before she can, metal fingers sliding over wet snow before they can find purchase on the handle.

_They live far away, in a house of the girl's making, because she has the power to create things out of nothing. He felt as if there should be repercussions to such wanton flaunting of the laws of physics, but hey, he ain't a scientist. The girl was about ten, and when she rode on his shoulders, he could pretend that she was just a normal kid, that they were a normal family. Sometimes the three of them would sit outside on the porch to watch the sun go down, and that's when he would think (with some disbelief) that this was the happiest he had ever remembered feeling._

The flash from the muzzle of the gun is as orange as the sunset from his last vision. The bang echoes in the alley and there is a soft gasp before he realizes, as she falls forward, that he's shot her. She falls hard onto the snow, blood already pooling beneath her as he watches her breathing slow.

She manages to shift onto her side, coughing out blood as she presses a hand to her chest, almost not believing that he’d done it. He rolls her onto her back, and she grabs at the metal of his arm, fingers smearing blood down the plates.

“James,” she whispers, then her hand falls and the light in her eyes fades away, gazing the unseeing sight of the dead. Despite himself, his fingers pass over her, closing her eyes. Her face is still warm under the flesh of his fingertips.

As he stands, it feels like he’s leaving part of himself behind, the missing part of his soul ripped out after being united for just a moment. He forces himself to move away, boots crunching loud on the snow.

When he reports to his handler, it is without the usual stoic dispassion that he displays. His handler makes a call, suggesting that he be reset again. His mind plays through the possibility of killing him, making a run for it, but where would he go, what would he do? No, it’s better for him like this.

At least this way, he can forget that he had ever met her.

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky's flashbacks are mostly scenes from the comics.  
> 1954/1963 - Captain America #27  
> 2007 - Captain America #27  
> Patrolling the city - Any time in Vol 5  
> Pretending to die - Fear Itself  
> "Who the hell is Bucky?" - Winter Soldier #14  
> Kobik - Okay this one isn't from the comics, it's based on [an awesome set of fanart](http://milady-666.tumblr.com/post/151759251412) by milady-666.


End file.
